Blushes and Broomsticks
by DalisMoustache
Summary: It's Oliver Wood's final year and Katie Bell knows it's her last chance to get his attention. Can she out-quidditch the master? How big of a bludger to the head will it take?
1. Chapter 1

Hello, my name is Katie Bell, or, as Fred and George now dubbed me, "Katie Smell."

"How original" I retorted and rolled my eyes.

"C'mon Katie, you can't shorten your name, and you gotta liven it up somehow." Fred said.

"How about Kate? Or Kat? Or K-love?" I suggested. "Wait! What's wrong with Katie anyway?"

"If that kind of nonsense is what you're into, I guess." Fred said, snatching up his broom on the way out.

I stuck out my tongue, lamenting that I failed to think of a wittier comeback.

Of course that is the moment my eyes met Oliver Wood. My tongue retreated into my mouth and I flashed what I hoped was my most charming smile. I could feael my face smoldering and decided that my untied shoe required my urgent attention.

Oliver scowled. "I hope you're going to take this new strategy we have been practicing seriously, Bell."

"I am." I mumbled at my laces.

"You were a bit sloppy yesterday and we've got to tighten it up if we're going to win the quidditch cup this year! This year is our year- I can feel it! I am sure we would have won it last year if..."

"I know Oliver," I replied, cutting him off. I didn't have 20 minutes for this rant again. No one did with his practice schedule. I finished tying my shoe and swept out the door to meet the rest of the team on the pitch without another glance his way.

In joining with the group, I made the mistake of catching Fred's eye. He touched his nose and mouthed the word "smell" and winked, so I fixed my eyes to ground and focused on my breathing. Stifling giggles was not going to help prove my dedication to Oliver's new strategy.

 _How fast of a bludger did it take to even temporarily knock the quidditch from Oliver Wood's mind?_ I wondered while staring at the muddy grass.

Although I would rather die than admit it to his face, I had a hopeless crush on Oliver Wood. Lately I had been making an extra effort to drop anvil-sized hints his way. Why else would any other woman in her right mind ask him for pointers about flying over dinner? The boy never shuts up! And now he's seen my tongue. This did not bode well, especially because of any unfavorable comparisons he might draw between my face and that of a certain reptile that happened to be our mortal house enemy.

I spent the rest of practice channeling my frustration on the pitch. I kept launching the quaffle with so much force that my fellow chasers performed spectacular rolls and mid-air pirouettes to catch it. If nothing else, I was impressed by the talent and flexibility of my teammates.

Walking back up to the castle, my best friend and fellow chaser, Angelina, caught up with me.

"Oi!What was that Katie? Wood will kick you off the team if you have another practice like that! Then what would you have to talk about with Mr. Loverboy?"

"At this point, I don't know who is the bigger idiot. I could probably count the amount of times we have recently talked about non-quidditch related topics on one hand. One of those times was about the weather, which probably would have segued into quidditch conditions if I hadn't already been late to transfiguration and just abandoned him mid-sentence."

"Hm." Angelina chewed on her bottom lip. They walked in silence for a few paces before she said,

"Have you ever tried to... out-quidditch him?"

"Say what now?"

"Out-quidditch him. I mean, you know how if you have a sweet tooth and then you eat so much chocolate you puke, then you won't eat chocolate for a while? Maybe it's the same with quidditch. What if you went so gung-ho into it with him, you would hit some kind of maximum saturation and eventually he would just... get bored."

"Ha!" I exclaimed derisively. "Get bored? Have you met him? This is a dangerous game you want me to play, Angelina Johnson. A very dangerous game."

"How much can a guy really be obsessed with a sport?" she asked.

"Do we really need to find out?"

I shook my head and tutted at the idea, but the seed was planted. I tried not to think about it at dinner, and I used every breathing technique I had learned from my favorite quidditch guru to drive it from my mind as I tossed and turned in bed.

No luck.

Angelina only grinned the next morning when I appeared at the Gryffindor table with hair sticking out at all angles and asked, "Okay, so, how do I do it?"


	2. Chapter 2

Angelina has asked me many times why I continue to pine for someone as clueless as Oliver.

It is an excellent question.

On the one hand, there's me: someone who is friends with non-quidditch players and can talk about a range of topics from trashy novels to the perfect recipe for cauldron cakes. On the other hand, there is Oliver: someone who probably buys his mum a new quidditch jersey every Christmas and fails to notice that she never wears them.

Despite this, I have found myself staring when he moves tiny pieces of food on his plate like they were quidditch players. I noticed with a skip of my heart in third year that his tongue starts to peek out in these moments of deep concentration.

There was a reason that I continued to play on the house team under Oliver's rigorous eye. Oliver has always been a tacit friend who, instead of talking about our problems, finds a way of dealing with them by throwing the quaffle a certain way, hitting bludgers or turning a blind eye toward the Fred and George prank war. His coaching has helped me work through many bad days by exhausting every negative muscle in my body.

I ticked off this list of reasons in my mind as I pinned my Harpies insignia to my robes and slung my Harpies scarf over my shoulder with a flourish.

I decided that if I, Katie Bell, were really going to throw all dignity out the window for a boy, I had better do it right.

Angelina was already sitting at the table when I arrived. She raised her eyebrows. I wrinkled my nose in response and found an empty seat at the end of the table. I served myself some breakfast food and shook out my copy of the Daily Prophet with a fanfare of attention-grabbing rustling. My eyes scanned the page until they had found the quidditch broadcast section and I set to memorizing it. I was so absorbed with my chosen quidditch-related task for the day that I didn't even notice the presence of Fred and George.

"Taking Oliver's harsh words a little too seriously?" Fred asked, pointedly flicking the pin on my chest. I slapped his hand.

"Personal boundaries!" I said. He held his hands up in a gesture of innocence. I grabbed the newspaper with both hands in what I dearly hoped was a dignified way."I hardly want it to be my fault that we don't win the cup this year. We'd probably be hearing about it for the next ten years."

Fred and George exchanged a skeptical look.

"What was that look about?" I snapped. They both shrugged in unison and shoved buttered breakfast rolls in their mouths.

I felt hot breath on my neck. Now what?

"Uh, personal space" George said through bits of mashed breakfast roll, slapping the back of Oliver's neck.

"Holyhead's your team, huh?" Oliver asked. He was leaning over my shoulder to read the broadcast section. I choked on my sip of juice and nodded, spluttering.

"Match against the Cannons? No contest! The Cannons have this one. I mean, ever since Reynolds has been back after his injury he..."

All I heard at this point was white noise and the lilting cadence of Oliver's voice. A sense of panic welled up in the back of my throat. I already felt so out of my depth that I was convinced that Oliver would see right through me on the first day of my plan and it would all be ruined before I could say "snitch."

When he was done talking, I saw that I had underestimated the depths of Oliver's current obliviousness. He just stood there, blinking, waiting for my response to this whole mysterious business about Reynolds.

"I see, but that won't stop me from cheering on my team." I said. True, general, and non-committal. He would never have to know that I completely missed everything he just said.

To my relief, Oliver let out a booming laugh. "Fair enough." His blue eyes crinkled at the edges in delight. "I am sure that you'll be listening in the common room at 7? I'll see you there and we'll see who's right."

I nodded and he slapped me on the back, causing the newspaper in my hands to crumple in front of me. Fred and George exchanged that look again and vacated their seats. The seat was still warm when Angelina slipped into it. Her eyes flicked to my pin, the newspaper page, then back to my face.

"Katie, I may have been joking yesterday."

"I don't know what you're talking about." I said, plopping a piece of toast in my mouth and gathering my books. She shook her head behind me.

She can shake her head all she wants, but Katie Bell, quidditch extradonaire, had already gotten a match listening invite. I smiled with my cheeks still full of toast.


	3. Chapter 3

My sloppy notes were the evidence that at least my body attended classes that day. My mind had set itself to compiling everything that I had ever known or learned about quidditch. I soothed my anxieties by listing all of the teams in my head in alphabetical order and picturing different broom models.

At 7 on the dot I found a corner of the common room and turned the wireless on low. Unsure if Oliver would even remember, I brought a book as a just-in-case social shield. I was paging through and jotting down some charms notes when I heard the springs on the adjacent chair creak under Oliver's muscular frame. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them. "So. Can you actually hear this?"

He leaned over my body to turn up the wireless. I couldn't help but notice that he smelled like fresh grass and incense.

Oliver tilted back in the chair, clasped his hands behind his head and hoisted his feet up on the table. I kept my eyes on my notes. I couldn't believe it was that easy to get him to come after all this time of trying to get his attention. Who knew that all it would take was to open the newspaper to the right page at the right time? I gripped my book and reminded myself that it was the quidditch that got his attention, not the shape and depth of my eyes or my impressive performance in transfiguration the past year.

The game started with a bang. The Cannons had the quaffle snatched right out from under their noses by a Harpies chaser who flew by to put the first goal through the hoop. Oliver winced. If I was going to go quidditch, I would have to go all in. I put down my pen and set it aside.

"See? These ladies know what they are doing." I said.

"That doesn't mean anything yet. Currently, as I'm sure you know, the Harpies are 3 and 2 in the league and if they lose this game they will be tied for wins and losses..."

There goes the white noise again. I can't back out! _Lean into it._

"That may be so, but this year the Harpies got Lestrade- the star of the Beauxbatons. She could give your Reynolds a run for his money." I said it so confidently I surprised myself. The Harpies scored another goal.

Listening to the game continued with me saying quidditchy things. My brain retained nothing and kept drifting back to my unfinished charms notes. I wanted to go back to the morning where I was just wearing the button, but the train had already left the station. I would have to subscribe to _Quidditch Monthly_ at this rate. Feeling unsure of myself, I slapped him on the back as we had often done on the quidditch pitch after practice to cement our new status as quidditch listening mates. He looked confused, but laughed all the same. I bottled my mortification and laughed too.

* * *

During practice the next day, Oliver was as intense as ever. He resembled a hawk watching us from under his dark eyebrows, perched on his broom above us. Any feelings of friendship we shared the previous night were completely forgotten as he screeched at me every time I missed a pass.

My muscles were already feeling stiff and sore as I struggled out of my robes. I began to limp back up to the castle mumbling to myself about what a bloody git Oliver was when I heard by name.

"Bell! Wait up!"

Oliver caught up quickly with my uneven limp. I tried to channel thoughts of quaffles and bludgers and push away thoughts of what Oliver's abs might look like under his jersey and what I would eat when I got back to the castle. My expression softened. But just a little.

"What do you need, Oliver?"

Ignoring the shortness of my tone, Oliver went ahead doled out advice. "I think you should watch that move of James from your precious Harpies. I think it could really help improve your game when it comes to defense. That James must have sticking solution on her hands! She really knows how to snatch back that quaffle..."

White noise again. I gritted my teeth. My stomach grumbled and I felt several cold drops of rain fall on my skin.

As predicted, Oliver didn't notice the loud rumble or pause when the rain started. He plowed onward with his demonstration of the maneuver and I continued to smile and nod. Quaffles, feints, left flank defensive maneuvers? I just wanted mashed potatoes.

Finally, there was silence. Oliver must have sensed that my mind was elsewhere because he asked, "So- what do you think?"

I shivered, and I considered telling him exactly what I thought. One glance at his face alight with boyish enthusiasm, however, had me saying, "Yeah! That's a good idea! Maybe I'll ask Madame Hooch for some free flying time tomorrow."

That transfiguration essay was due, but, I had to OUT- quidditch Oliver, not just match the fever.

"I like your initiative, Bell! Slytherin won't know what hit them!" he fist-pumped and pulled me into a walking side-hug. "Merlin, Katie. I can't believe you're not hungry after that. My stomach is growling."

I frowned as the rain splashed across my cheek. Why did I like Oliver so much again?

"And it's raining! Here." Oliver cast a repelling charm above us and pulled me under its radius.

Oh. That's right.


	4. Chapter 4

That night I stared at the waves and whorls of the scarlet curtain hanging above me and contemplated the current state of affairs with Oliver. As much as I would rather have Oliver notice qualities besides my initiative in quidditch, he had gone out of his way to talk to me recently which told me that the plan had begun to pull Oliver into my orbit. It could not lose momentum. I needed a phase two.

I brought it up to Angelina in a cozy booth at the Three Broomsticks on our first Hogsmeade trip of the year. She sipped and nodded along to my story.

"Trust your instincts" she said, setting the thick mug down on the table.

"You always say that when you are completely out of ideas." Liquid sloshed out of my own mug as I brought it down harder than necessary.

"It's still good advice. Besides, I don't even get what you see in him. I feel like, if you were meant to be together, it wouldn't be this hard."

I sighed and stared at a coat of arms affixed to the wall above Angelina's head. I could still feel the touch of his hand around my waist as he pulled me out of the rain. My mug almost missed my mouth when I brought it up for another sip. Angelina just tutted and shook her head.

We parted ways outside of the Three Broomsticks as she was hailed by the Weasley twins. I could see all of Angelina's teeth in the ravishing smile she flashed Fred's way before they all linked arms and walked off to the next shop. Angelina's words reverberated in my mind and I felt a stirring of jealousy at how easy it all looked. Fred and Angelina simply got along, and anyone who spent time around them knew that they cared about each other even if their relationship carried no label beyond friendship.

I wandered on my own soaking in the tasteful arrangements of the autumn window displays until I found myself outside the quidditch shop. I needed to get my hands dirty. No more kid stuff for phase two. Why not play to my natural talents of research? I perused the very educated adult book section in the back of the shop and hastily selected _Quidditch Through the Ages._ I looked both ways to ensure there were no lurking quidditch captains and went to pay.

The witch behind the counter was starting to pack my purchase when the bell on the door tinkled. His cheeks were rosy from the cold, but he smiled and waved at the cashier witch with familiar ease. Her cheeks tinged pink and she waved back. The smile on her lips didn't disappear when she began wrapping my book. Oliver started walking toward the broomstick care section when he stopped as if he had just remembered he left his cauldron bubbling.

"Katie?"

I nodded in greeting and chanced a glance at the cashier witch. Her eyes were darting suspiciously between the two of us. Her smile disappeared when Oliver clapped a hand on my shoulder and craned his neck to read the title.

He skipped over all other greeting and launched into his thoughts like he was carrying on a conversation I didn't remember starting.

"Quidditch Monthly recommended that coaches should go through proper broom care with their teams to assure that each player has game-ready equipment. Which one looks good to you?"

I broke away from the counter and selected one at random. It had a proud hippogriff on the label and the purple lettering looked regal.

"I was looking at that one, too! Where did you see it? There was an ad in the sports section of the Daily Prophet just last week and they usually curate their ads pretty well. When I was a kid, I used Kerns's special wax, but after this year I'll be playing professionally." he explained and turned the bottle over in his hand. His lips moved while reading the label on the back.

"I saw it there,too" I lied. Oliver grinned from ear to ear.

I turned to leave, but I felt a grip on my arm.

"Wait, Bell!" He quickly paid for the polish and accepted the package from the now-frowning witch to fall into stride with me.

"What did you think of that article yesterday about the Wimbolden Wasps? Do you really think that their keeper will drop out?"

I joined in, visualizing the notes that I had taken on the article. He took my comments and ran with them, explaining in detail the intricacies of the Wasps' keeper strategies. I followed and listened, mentally taking notes about what to research later. We stopped in front of the Hogshead.

"So, maybe we can try some of these ideas at practice?" he said.

He turned to walk into the Hogshead, but he stopped again and touched my arm. A gentle gesture this time. "The game is on in there." he jabbed his thumb toward the pub, "and I should tell you which chapters to avoid in _Quidditch Through the Ages._ "

My heart skipped and all I could do was nod and say "I'd like that." My hip tingled where he had touched it before and I felt a thrill catch my breath wondering if he would do it again. Instead, he looked at the hand on my arm and jerked it back as I were dragonfire. He stepped backwards.

"Well, anyway Katie. I'll see you after practice. My mates are waiting for me."

I said goodbye feeling confused. We had only spent a few minutes together, but I felt so swept into his cyclone of enthusiasm, the world felt too quiet after he left. Unsure what else to do, I trudged back up the Gryffindor common room and started reading.


	5. Chapter 5

Back in the Gryffindor common room I dutifully held a book in front of my face while my mind replayed the moment over and over again. Each time I pictured the expression on his face when he tore his hand back I gave it a new interpretation. First, disgust. Then, loathing and fear. When I finally decided to give myself the benefit of the doubt and label it as simple indigestion, Angelina hit me upside the head with a rolled up magazine.

"I've got just the thing," she said.

I grunted in reply.

"Ta da!"

She unfurled the latest issue of _Witch Weekly_ and waved it in front of me. On the cover it advertised a quiz in shimmering orange letters. "How to tell if you've bewitched your wizard: answer these 5 simple questions!"

"Angelina, I don't think-"

Angelina cleared her throat and began reading.

"Question 1: Do your wizard's eyes linger when looking at you?" She fixed me with an unblinking gaze.

I snorted. "Only if I've done something wrong on the quidditch pitch. Angelina, I think-"

"Question 2: Does your wizard find excuses to make bodily contact with you?"

I had opened my mouth to tell Angelina how crazy and desperate a witch would have to be to take the quiz, but closed it after hearing the question.

"Let me see that thing." I said, reaching out my hand.

She leaned sideways to shield the magazine from my grasp and continued reading.

"Question 3: Does he go out of his way to talk to you?"

He had stopped me more often after quidditch practice lately. On the other hand, he almost walked right by me in the shop earlier. Next question!

"Question 4: Does it seem like your wizard put a true trace on you to show up at unexpected times?"

I have always theorized that Oliver lives so deep in his own world that he would probably run into walls if no one said "quidditch" enough for him to look up every once in a while. That was a definite no.

"Question 5: Has he quoted something you've said to him in a previous conversation?"

Angelina looked up from the magazine to make eye contact with me and we both burst out laughing. The idea of Oliver quoting anyone or anything besides a sports commentator was ludicrous. Like pigs with truffles, the Weasley twins had a preternatural ability to sniff out laughter whenever it occurred and show up unannounced, devilish grins already firmly in place.

"What's so funny ladies?" Fred peeked over the side of the magazine and Angelina's face turned several shades of crimson.

"Question 5? I can quote you. I remember you saying just yesterday, 'it's cold enough to freeze the ba-'"

Fred's mouth moved, but no sound came out. Angelina grinned, her wand held loosely in her hand.

* * *

Hogwarts always threw a spectacular Halloween feast. A few laughs and several cauldron cakes later, my worries lifted. I joined in with Fred, George and Angelina's enthusiastic toasts that sprayed drops of pumpkin juice on several disgruntled second years, and melded my voice with theirs for a sing-along to the Hogwarts school song. Well, the Fred and George version of the song which attracted a few shocked looks from the Hufflepuff table.

We marched our parade of giddiness back toward the common room. Angelina hitched a ride on Fred's back and George practiced his frighteningly accurate impression of professor Snape's voice to startle passing first years.

Just outside the common room, it became clear that something was wrong. Our smiles vanished when we hit the back-up of students down the corridor and noticed the ominous susurrus of passing whispers.

"The portrait hole is in shreds."

"In shreds?"

"The fat lady has completely scarpered. No one can get in. "

"... Sirius Black, she said"

"...threatened her with a knife!"

"Can it be true?"

George and I exchanged a wide-eyed look and many of the surrounding students cast sidelong glances at Harry Potter. We all knew what Sirius Black might be after.

McGonagall made the announcement to go back to the Great Hall while the teachers searched for the intruder. Percy Weasley strutted to the front of the group of Gryffindors shouting orders. Fred and George rolled their eyes, but followed without protest.

Sleeping bags appeared on the floor and the prefects began patrolling up and down the lines of students. There was a mad dash to claim sleeping bags next to a friend and continue the chatter.

Fred, George, Angelina and I snagged four sleeping bags in a row and leaned our heads together.

"Excellent. A murderer on the loose. Maybe mum will have sympathy and send more of those cinnamon rolls." Fred said.

"Who do you think is most likely to find him?" Angelina asked.

"My money's on Trelawney. Do you think those giant glasses help her with her second sight?" George said.

I pulled back my pillow to wallop George, but turned when a shadow blocked the torchlight from above. Expecting Percy's disapproving frown, I was startled to see Oliver. He was tugging at the ends of his hair in deep concern.

"Don't worry. If he's here, Dumbledore will catch him." I said.

"What? Oh. I know that."

"Then why the face?"

"Do you know what this will mean for quidditch? You don't think McGonagall will take Harry off the team, do you? Do you think we'll still get to play if practice is after dark?"

We all heaved a collective sigh.

"Only you, Oliver. Who cares about the possible madman loose in the castle when quidditch is at stake?" George said.

Ignoring the comment, he wandered off in McGonagall's direction.

"Save my spot for me." I said through gritted teeth. Someone had to stop him. Ten feet away from McGonagall , I grabbed his wrist.

"What do you think you're doing?" I hissed.

"Bell. I knew you'd be the one to understand. You know we can't let them take away quidditch!"

"No, Oliver. I don't know."

I moved to stand between him and his target.

"But, this is our year! We're the best team in the whole school! I'm not just going to let it go. We've worked too hard."

He wrenched his wrist from my grasp and started walking again. This time I seized his arm with both hands.

"You idiot, Oliver. All you're going to do is make McGonagall angry. She has enough to worry about right now and you'll only ruin your chances. Let it go. Can't you trust that everything is going to be okay?"

He turned his hawkish gaze directly at me. The flickering shadows playing under his dark eyebrows from the torchlight made him look deranged. I straightened my back to appear taller and met his eyes with determination. I needed to speak his language. A relevant passage from the afternoon's reading floated into my consciousness.

"In 1862 Jim Vance from the English national team went missing during a windy practice. Instead of calling the practice off, the coach insisted on continuing and it resulted in two more chasers completely disappearing- all on the eve of a World Cup qualifier. England suffered an embarrassing defeat all because their leader didn't know when to pack it in."

He blinked in surprise and let his arm go limp.

"That... that's actually true."

"I know. If you can't trust the teachers to sort it, can you at least trust that I know what I'm talking about?"

I said it like I was talking to one of my misbehaving nephews. I maintained my grip on his arm and raised my eyebrows toward him in expectation. He nodded with caution, but continued to stare and stand frozen in my grasp.

Why was he staring? Angelina's voice echoed in my mind. _Do your wizard's eyes linger when looking at you?_ I pushed the thought aside.

"Do you trust me or not?" I repeated.

He shook his head and softened his expression as if coming out of a trance.

"No, it's just... you're right. I've never had someone explain it to me like that before. Know when to pack it in." His shoulders shook with short bursts of laughter. "I'll have to remember that one."

"So, you're not going to go to McGonagall?"

"No." He said with conviction. I knew I could believe him and my body relaxed.

"Lights out!" Percy bellowed. The light from the torches dimmed and made all of the sleeping forms difficult to discern. I started to make my way back to my sleeping bag, picking my feet up comically high to avoid any unseen sleepers. I was glad that no one could really see me because I'm sure I looked ridiculous.

"Can you see?" Oliver asked.

"Yes."

"Then you know that you're heading toward the Slytherin sleeping bags."

"It's the scenic route."

"Here."

He grabbed both of my shoulders and squared them 90 degrees to the right. His breath stung my neck when he leaned in to whisper.

"Head toward those dark blobs instead. I wouldn't want you accidentally waking up next to Marcus Flint."

"I know. That would be the wrong quidditch captain."

Maybe I said it was because he was so close. Maybe not seeing him in the darkness made his presence seem unreal. Either way, I knew I couldn't take it back now.

I felt his body stiffen next to me and I resisted the urge to slap my forehead. I backpedaled.

"Cedric Diggory." I explained with a small girlish laugh that sounded like it came from some first year ditz instead of all-wise me.

He made an indistinguishable grunt and pushed me a few steps forward. I could feel my cheeks aflame in the dark and cursed myself for that moment of weakness.

Angelina recognized my form and whispered my name. I followed it back to my sleeping bag.

"You're welcome for saving quidditch." I muttered sliding my legs into the warmth.

George patted me on the head. "Good Katie. Good Katie." I swatted his hand away and pulled the covers over my head wondering why Flitwick had never taught a charm to use when one wanted to disappear from embarrassment.


	6. Chapter 6

As predicted, everything worked out.

With the quidditch, anyway.

McGonagall allowed Harry to play as long as Madame Hooch monitored the sessions. Even though McGonagall played the part of impartial professor, we all knew she wanted a Gryffindor win almost as much as Oliver.

Ever since the night in the Great Hall, I got the feeling that Oliver was avoiding me. Everyone else on the Gryffindor team complained that he kept cornering them in the corridors to give long-winded tips for the upcoming match. Everyone, it seemed, except me. I convinced myself that all of the problems between us would be solved if we could beat Slytherin on the pitch, so I dedicated every moment I could to practice. I logged extra flying time with Madame Hooch and I studied the moves of my favorite players more closely than ever.

The more I poured into quidditch, the less time I had to dwell on Oliver. Instead of wondering in agony if he would stop me after practice, I contemplated my passing game; instead of strategizing how I could snag a seat next to him at dinner, I practiced my push-up form.

Gale-force winds and driving rains turned our last few practices before the first match into endurance tests. We couldn't hear Oliver's booming voice over the howling wind, so Fred and George invented their own gestures and language to bridge the gap. Oliver responded to our stifled laughter by yelling louder, only to have half his words stolen by the wind once more.

Despite the weather conditions, the team remained optimistic about our chances for victory. The changing rooms before our last practice rang with easy laughter and lighthearted razzing.

Until Oliver walked in.

His jaw was clenched, his face etched into a scowl. Wanting to avoid another lengthy harangue about not taking quidditch seriously enough, we all fell silent to hear what he had to say.

He announced with a growl that we were not playing Slytherin as we had planned due to some excuse about their seeker's arm still being injured. The room filled with a collective groan. Slytherin knew their chances for the cup would suffer if they had to play in this weather, so they found a way to slither out of it. Hufflepuff was our new opposition, Oliver explained. His eyes flicked to me when mentioning Cedric Diggory. I could feel my chest burn and I let out a nervous giggle. Angelina smirked.

The rest of the speech covered Hufflepuff tactics. Oliver told us to throw away all of the techniques we practiced to beat Slytherin in order to learn a few new power plays that countered Diggory's style. Though no longer as optimistic, we took to the pitch with a fierce determination that, in Oliver, bordered on the maniacal. We all knew that beating Hufflepuff also meant thwarting Slytherin's underhanded attempt to ruin our our chances for the cup. In this mission, failure was not an option.

* * *

A clap of thunder startled me awake the morning of the match. I peeked through the curtains and saw a wall of grey. It was worse than I imagined.

The silence in the changing rooms was only broken my more peals of thunder and the rain pounding on the roof. We turned our eyes to Oliver to listen to any last words of inspiration he had to throw our way. None came, so we all grabbed our brooms and put on the bravest faces we could muster for his sake.

The rain soaked through our clothes in seconds and we had to wade our way to the middle of the pitch to meet Madame Hooch and the Hufflepuffs. Diggory stood tall and unflinching while the raindrops pelted his face. He smiled at Oliver and stuck out his hand in a friendly gesture. Oliver straightened himself to meet Cedric's height and grasped the other captain's hand tightly. He did not return the smile.

I heard the muffled blow of the whistle. A sudden blur of red came whizzing in my direction. My instincts took over, and I caught the quaffle just before it smashed into my face. I searched through the haze for other scarlet-clad figures and launched passes in their direction. All of our training and plays were tossed aside as we struggled to stay on our brooms in the wind. The horizontal rain obscured all vision and I could only see the Hufflepuff hoops within a fifteen foot radius. Twenty minutes of confusion later, I feinted left and arced the quaffle through the middle hoop. I chanced a glance to the stands and saw the Gryffindor score flip to 60. Where had the other 50 points come from?

I saw a blurry figure that might have been Alicia wave me forward. Other scarlet figures were heading to the ground and I deduced that Oliver must have called a time out.

"We're 50 points up" Oliver shouted. "This is better than I expected, but we will only get weaker the longer the games goes on." He directed his gaze at Harry, who nodded in understanding. He had to catch the snitch soon or we were toast. "Keep up the effort, Gryffindor!"

We took to the air again and I shifted right to dodge a bludger. I held my hands out for a pass from Angelina and, together, we managed to score two more goals. The rain didn't let up. The cold started to penetrate to my bones, causing my body to shiver uncontrollably.

One yellow blur followed by one scarlet blur zoomed past after a golden glint. The wind all but muted my shout of, "Get it, Harry!" The crackle of the fire in the Gryffindor common room was waiting and I could almost taste the victory cocoa.

My dreams of a quick win shattered when I watched several black, hooded blobs glide onto the field. I could hear gasps from the crowd. From high above, a body dropped, limp as a voodoo doll. I grabbed my wand from my pocket out of instinct. Watching Harry's progress to the ground in helpless terror, my wand was nothing more than a useless branch. _Wingardium Leviosa_? Would that work? I braced myself for the moment of impact.

About ten feet from the ground, he started to slow. Dumbledore was on his feet. Brandishing his wand and beard flapping in the wind, he looked as majestic as Merlin himself. I exhaled in relief. Dumbledore would never let anything happen to us. Why were there dementors on the field in the first place?

The world on the ground was all bustle and confusion. From high in the stands, someone screamed and spectators jostled for position in the rush to return to the protection of the castle. I could make out the words "Sirius Black" among the excited chatter of the passing crowd. Harry's pale, motionless body lay spread eagle across a floating stretcher and my eyes scanned the tides of people. I locked eyes with Angelina. We collided into a hug, our wet robes slapping on impact. A few warm tears mingled with the cold rain drops as we clung to each other for comfort. From behind, Fred, George and Alicia splashed up and we all headed in the direction of the infirmary.

* * *

Even though Cedric Diggory contested it after he heard what happened, the win still counted and we all had to admit that it was fair. Even Oliver had grumbled his assent. Dementors or no dementors, one player fell off his broom and the other stayed on and that was that. We all assured Harry that we had no hard feelings, and the Weasley twins delivered what was left of his Nimbus Two Thousand. Upon seeing the bag of splintered wood, Harry's face fell and we began to sense that he was waiting for us to leave so that he could process his scrape with death and the loss of his beloved broom. With a final pat on his back and squeeze of his shoulder, we filed out one by one.

The rest of the team opted to ignore Madame Pomfrey's pursed lips and Filch's glares to drip their way back to the common room, but I decided to head back to the changing rooms. I knew who I would find there.

* * *

Oliver was standing with his head against a wall and a towel wrapped around his waist. After being pelted with freezing rain, the warm humidity of the changing rooms felt like a fuzzy blanket. I peeled off my soaking robe and set to performing a drying charm, hoping that my presence would prompt Oliver to talk first.

"Why are you here?" He asked through clenched teeth.

"Harry is fine, in case you were wondering." I said.

He brushed my comment aside. "What I mean is, why are you here and not congratulating your favorite Captain Diggory, on his victory?"

"What are you trying to say, Oliver?" My drying charm started to run too hot and my robe steamed.

"'The wrong quidditch captain?' Ring any bells?"

Though the comment lit my ire, I couldn't help but notice that it was a direct quote from me. Maybe there was something to that _Witch Weekly_ quiz after all. I resisted the urge to whack him upside the head with a nearby beater's bat.

"That was before he beat me at quidditch." I said.

He didn't laugh.

"I know it was a terrible loss, but Harry wasn't too happy about what happened either." I continued.

I could see his jaw continue to work as he pushed himself away from the wall. Wordlessly, he walked behind the boys' partition and pulled on fresh clothes. When he came back out his brow looked a little less furrowed.

"Look, Oliver, you bloody git. I'm here to see you, in case you didn't notice. We can't win the cup if our captain drowns himself in the showers." I said. I pulled on my parka and took my wand out to cast a repelling charm.

For the first time in what felt like weeks, his eyes found mine. A few moments passed with no answer. I ventured a step forward and wrapped my arms around him, pinning his own arms at his sides. I squeezed as hard as I could in this one-person hug. "We still believe in you, Oliver."

He remained rigid even as I released him. Without pausing to look at his face, I walked out knowing that it would still be some time before he followed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Note: I'm trying to stay as close to cannon as possible with this story, but I did change up the ages of Alicia, Angelina, and Katie in this chapter. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

I slumped into a seat in the common room after practice. The exhaustion washed over me and I let my body go limp. Angelina flopped on top of me.

The last few practices, the rest of the Gryffindor team had taken over most of the captain duties while Oliver stared off into space. Fred and George took over giving talks before and after practice and Alicia kept everybody moving with her sharp voice. The only person Oliver would look directly at was Harry, and the intensity of the look was unnerving. We all discussed in whispers what he might be planning for the unfortunate third year and formed close ranks around him during practice. Our next game wasn't until the new term against Ravenclaw, but we still wanted to take advantage of our practice time before the Christmas holidays.

Oliver's moodiness sucked the fun out of quidditch. I tried to show him support by catching his eye in the corridors and giving him encouraging smiles. The only time he tried to force a smile in return it came out as a pained grimace that bared most of his teeth. The effect made him look more threatening than ever, so I stopped trying soon after. This wasn't Oliver's first big mope and we knew that only time could heal it.

Even still- we were all counting the days for it to be over.

I gasped for air after Alicia completed our pile of chasers. "Ladies, fellow chasers and co-captains- I think we deserve some fun after that practice." she said.

A strained rasping sound emanated from the middle of the pile. Alicia stood back up to let Angelina speak.

"I don't think I like your idea of fun." she said, taking in a few lungfuls of air.

"Wait here."Alicia faced her palm toward us like we were dogs learning how to stay.

She came back wearing pajamas patterned with flying quaffles and carrying three bottles of butterbeer and a set of exploding snap. Even though she was only one year older, it seemed that she had lived twice as much as Angelina or I. When she offered her womanly wisdom, she sounded like a walking, talking issue of the _Witch Weekly_ advice column and we both loved listening to her. Eager to log some valuable learning time, Angelina and I both squealed and rushed upstairs to put on our own pajamas. When we came back, Alicia had found us a place by the fire with the game set up. We acted like we had swallowed de-aging potion as we giggled to the sound of explosions and chattered in conspiratorial whispers.

"Ugh. I know. I only finished one roll of the two he demanded." Angelina said after hearing me complain about Snape's latest potions essay.

"I wrote two and a half." I said with a spark of pride.

Alicia and Angelina looked at each other. "Showoff." Alicia scoffed, tossing her card onto the pile and giving me a playful shove.

I rolled my eyes and threw another card on the deck that was beginning to smoke.

"That professor Lupin, though. I'd write two rolls for him any day." Alicia said with a wink. Angelina and I attempted to throw our cards at her, but they flailed to the floor when they hit the air.

"Blech. It wasn't cute when you said that about Lockhart last year either. Wait. What ever happened to him, anyway? Didn't he lose his mind or something?"

"It wasn't his mind I was interested in." Alicia shielded her face from another barrage of cards.

We continued playing and joking for over an hour, measuring time by the progress of our butterbeer. I shook the last few drops into my mouth feeling satisfied. The drink, the company and the fire had worked to warm me from the inside out and the grating memory of the quidditch practice faded into the distance. With a full smile on my face, I sat back and listened to Alicia and Angelina wrap up a heated debate about the latest Weird Sisters song and shift the conversation to our last Hogsmeade trip of the year.

Alicia announced that she had secured a date with Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw quidditch captain.

Like that, all the warmth I felt left me faster than a Firebolt.

"You're dating the enemy!" I said, throwing a pillow at her. "They're our next opponents. How do you know he's not just after quidditch secrets?" I asked.

"For the record, I asked him several weeks ago. So far he hasn't even mentioned quidditch once. Sometimes, you just have to lay down the line." She flipped her curtain of dark hair behind her shoulder with a smug grin. I felt a stab of annoyance. Why did she get to go out with the captain that didn't talk about quidditch all the time?

"I don't remember you two doing much talking when I saw you together in the corridor yesterday." Angelina said, raising her eyebrows and glancing her way.

Alicia didn't blush. Instead, she flashed a wicked, knowing smile and wiggled her shoulders. "Do you want to know more?" Angelina nodded with a hungry look in her eye, but I scowled and folded my arms.

"Oliver would kick you off the team if he knew about this! Have you seen the way he's been looking at Harry after the last match?" I said.

Angelina nodded in agreement.

"But, what does Oliver care about me and Roger?" Alicia continued, "I don't think he even notices that kind of thing. He wouldn't know romance if it.. if it..." Alicia said. She pursed her lips in concentration, searching for the right words.

"Snogged loudly in the corridor after double transfiguration?" I said.

Angelina laughed, but Alicia narrowed her eyes at me. "Very funny. But, honestly, I think he would only really get angry if he heard me talking about quaffles with him, or if he saw us taking private flying lessons together- and that is not a euphemism." She added when Angelina and I started to giggle at the thought of "private flying lessons."

I tried to turn my mind onto the card game and move on, but I couldn't let it go.

"I still don't like it. How do you know he's not going to try to get information out of you after a few butterbeers?" I said after a few minutes.

My fellow chasers stared at me, open-mouthed.

"I think your out-quidditching plan is getting to you- you've gone officially bonkers." Angelina said. "Alicia's talking about scoring a decent snog and you're going on about quidditch strategy and intrigue. What world are you living in?"

Though not entirely true, I had do admit that she wasn't wrong. My momentum was starting to slip on the whole pursuit. After the euphoria of uncovering new layers of the sport and the nuggets of attention from Oliver, it had all begun to feel like another school project with the onset of his post-loss moodiness. I had developed a deeper appreciation for the sport, but I had to acknowledge that, unlike Oliver, I could not live on quidditch alone.

"You're right." I said with a heavy sigh. "I do need to do something else. What have you got?"

Angelina's face split into a grin. "Would you team up with George so he doesn't feel too much like a third wheel?" She was blushing and her words came out in a jumble.

"You finally asked Fred?" Alicia asked. She was sitting straight up and clapping her hands together.

A private smile playing on her lips, Angelina recounted how she had found the courage to ask Fred if he wanted to go to Hogsmeade together and how surprised she was that he said "yes" with no hesitation. She spoke quickly, giving me the impression that she had been bursting with this information for days.

"But, I asked about both the twins, not just Fred. I wanted to make it seem casual." she explained. She started picking up the cards for another round. The smile never left her face.

"So, I am supposed to occupy George while you spend time with Fred to make it all... casual?" I asked.

"That is your mission. Please choose to accept it."

I did not refuse. She was my best friend and she had been wanting this for ages. Not to mention that I was starting to formulate what seemed like a natural phase three to my plan for Oliver: the pull back maneuver. Maybe it was time to show Oliver more of what a sane, balanced life looked like.

That's the reason my logical brain came up with, anyway. The savage emotional part of my brain had another message: sod Oliver. He had been ignoring me for weeks. He chose to stay on his island, brooding about our match while I made real human effort to cheer him up. It was no contest. In that moment, I was sick of waiting for Oliver.

After we agreed on a plan, I began crossing off the days one by one in anticipation. During class I daydreamed about perusing Zonkos and slobbering over a large block of Honeyduke's chocolate. I could feel my stomach shaking with laughter and the cozy atmosphere of the Three Broomsticks enfolding me. My quidditchless salvation was just around the corner.

* * *

At breakfast the Friday before the Hogsmeade trip Oliver stopped to talk to me for the first time since the changing room hug.

"Hey, Bell! You know how the Puddlemere game will be on in the Three Broomsticks tomorrow?"

I jumped and narrowed my eyes in suspicion. His voice sounded friendly and his face glowed with anticipation. It appeared that it was a genuine invitation given in the spirit of friendship.

After two weeks of broadcasting it to the world, it seemed that he woke up this morning to find that his black mood had simply packed up and left in the middle of the night. Like everything Oliver did, his mood change was accomplished with decisive force and enthusiasm. He expected everyone around him to accept the situation with no apology or explanation. In Oliver Land, who cares about the past if everything is okay right now?

I both loved and hated this about him. It was hard to stay angry with someone so naively honest about how they felt in the present moment. Whatever his faults, Oliver was not a liar.

My mind shuffled through what to say first. Do I scold him for treating his friends so abominably, or do I make it more personal? I wanted to lie and say that I didn't know about the game, but I couldn't betray the honesty of feeling in his face. Instead, I nodded and forced a smile to cover my surprise at this mood change. He looked down and started fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.

"Do you want to listen after a trip to Quality Quidditch Supplies?"

Why was he doing this to me now? Now that I finally had plans after weeks of waiting for him to perk up? He must have seen the pinched look on my face because he kept talking.

"I've invited some of my mates along and we always have a laugh with the commentary. I though you might like to join." He addressed these words to my left foot and trailed off at the end.

"I might be there later with George." I answered. My eyes studied his face with avid curiosity. Was there anything else in this invitation? Was he playing it like Angelina, trying to make everything seem casual?

His eyebrows shot skyward. "With George?"

I felt a glimmer of triumph at his surprise.

"Angelina, Fred, George and I are all going together. I think Angelina just needed one more. You understand, right?"

His face passed from relieved to anxious again. "Why did you say only George's name just then when you're going as a group?"

I stared at him. "You really don't know?"

His eyes grew wide with alarm. "You mean, you and George er... you two are er... " he spluttered, gesturing his hands as if he could convey his thoughts with sign language as his words failed him.

"No!" I said, popping his swelling panic. "It's Angelina and Fred. Haven't you seen the way they flirt every day at practice and give each other googly eyes at the Gryffindor table? There's more than happens at quidditch than just quidditch, you know."

He shook his head, confused, but his shoulders relaxed a little. He continued to prod.

"So, why are you going with George?"

I sighed in frustration. "Angelina wants it all casual, Oliver. Casual! You have to get a companion for the third wheel if it's going to be casual. Everybody knows that. Think of it like... a sexy quidditch play."

He looked, if possible, even more bewildered than before. Maybe Alicia was right about Oliver and romance. His eyes pleaded for an explanation, and I could feel myself relenting.

"Why does it even matter? It doesn't mean we won't see you there." I said. Oliver shook the expression off his face, flashed a half-smile and nodded.

"I guess not. So you'll ask George about it?"

"Of course," I said, all the while fishing for an excuse to use later about why I didn't. Why couldn't I have one day without quidditch? Moreover, why I could I not say no to Oliver Wood?


	8. Chapter 8

The sharp freeze pricked just enough to make me feel alive and it covered the village of Hogsmeade with a layer of icy frosting. I welcomed the illusion that I was walking through rows of gingerbread houses and it struck me just how close Christmas was. All I could do was smile.

Even with one half of the Weasley comedy duo absorbed in creating pretenses to pull my friend away from the rest of the group, we all managed to keep our bodies warm by laughing together. In the moments when the two gooey-eyed lovebirds wandered off for whatever reason Fred could make up in the moment, George and I fell into natural conversation. We joked about the funny-shaped candy at Honeydukes, took turns doing Dumbledore impressions and made up less G-rated words to Christmas carols that we sang with gusto.

After a tour of Honeydukes, Zonkos and the Shrieking Shack, we all stopped instinctively in front of the Three Broomsticks to catch our breath. The windows were fogged and the murmur of lively conversation filtered onto the street. The promise of flopping into a comfortable chair and setting down my shopping bags helped me overcome my worries about running into Oliver. I never did keep my promise to ask George about listening to the Puddlemere game and I had no plan B about what to say if he saw us. Not wanting to let the worry ruin my perfect day, I pushed inside focusing on the pleasure it would bring.

As soon as we were through the door, Fred and Angelina left us behind, slipping between the tight throng of people toward the bar.

"I say we grab a place for ourselves before they're all gone." George said.

I glanced at Fred's and Angelina's backs and opened my mouth to tell them our plan. Their heads were turned toward one another and they seemed to have completely forgotten that we entered the Three Broomsticks as a group of four. Deciding not to intrude, I nodded and gripped George's sleeve as he lead me through the packed groups of students.

George grabbed my arm and pulled me toward a corner where there were two vacant seats at a small table. He motioned for me to stay while he ventured back through the crowd. With a sigh of relief, I unraveled my scarf and unbuttoned my jacket ready to relax into the space.

Everyone wore wide smiles on their faces and sporadic peals of laughter could be heard drifting up from the down the stairs. Shopping bags rustled and the room buzzed with excited chatter. The energy was contagious and I found myself sitting in the corner feeling rosy-cheeked and satisfied. Alicia was leaning against a rail chatting with Roger Davies. Their heads were very close together, deep in discussion. I caught her eye and waved. She winked in response, and turned back toward Davies whose eyes were focused solely on her face. Even Marcus Flint looked happy. He had secured a booth with a few of his fellow Slytherins and was snickering along to a story one of them was telling. I let myself fall back and feel dizzy with the spinning of the world.

I caught sight of the top of George's red head bobbing up the stairs. He held up two foaming mugs with a triumphant grin. After setting them both on the table in front of himself, he looked at me, face blank, and asked, "Wait- Did you want something, Katie?" I punched him on the arm and he slid the other mug over to me laughing at his own joke.

"So, do you reckon Fred and Angelina will send a Christmas card from their hotel room?" he asked.

I leaned in, unable to conceal my excitement.

"Did they finally make a move?"

George made an exaggerated glance left and another one right as if checking for eavesdroppers.

"Once you know, you cannot un-know."

I blinked and waited for him to continue. He look a long sip of his butterbeer for dramatic effect.

"At first I thought the giant squid had decided to pop in for a pint before I realized what I was really looking at."

I clapped and bounced with joy. I took a drink and warmth flooded my insides, added to my growing sense of contentment. It had been a long time since I felt so happy just to be alive and breathing.

"You're only happy because you didn't have to witness it," George said.

He smiled, but his gaze veered off toward the crowd of people. The smile looked stiff and his eyes were dull- no hint of mockery lurking behind them.

"And you're not happy?" I asked. I felt determined to spread the feeling I had found to everyone around me.

George shrugged. "It's not that I'm not happy..." he began, bringing the drink to his lips to give himself time to collect his thoughts. "It's just that we've always done everything together. Who's going to do the set-up so I can do the punch line?"

After he said 'punch line,' I punched him in the arm again hoping to cheer him up with my own terrible joke.

"What? You think I won't punch a girl?" He rotated his fist in the air like he was winding up to hit me. I pretended to block and we both dissolved into a bout of childish giggles. When our laughter tapered off, we rested in silence for a few moments, lost in our own thoughts.

"Is that Wood?" George asked, looking over my shoulder. The mention of his name startled me out of my reverie and I nearly spat into my mug. What were those scenarios I was going over in my head again? I followed his gaze with caution.

Oliver was in the corner next to the large wireless used to broadcast games. His ear was right up next to the speaker. With the din in the room, it was no wonder that he could barely hear the game. His face was pulled into a scowl of concentration. One hand rested on an empty mug of butterbeer and the other underneath his chin.

"Something wrong?" George asked. I became aware of the sour look that had formed on my face as I took in the scene.

I confessed to George about Oliver having asked me about meeting up at the Three Broomsticks.

"I just wanted a day without quidditch." I explained. "Now I just feel horrible."

"He said he was listening with his mates?" George asked, eyeing the empty chairs around Oliver. I nodded.

"That is pretty sad. Let's go over there." George rose to leave, but I was seized by a sudden panic. I felt like I had seen something I wasn't supposed to- as if knowing that he was lying about listening with his mates was an invasion of his privacy. I grabbed George's arm and pulled it backward.

It was too late. Oliver had spotted us. His scowl instantly smoothed and he waved us over. George raised his eyebrows at me and shook his arm. With a sigh, I released him and trudged over to the corner. George leaned in and whispered, "Where's your Christmas spirit, Bell?" He smirked and took the seat opposite to Oliver, leaving me with the seat right next to him.

"You made it!" Oliver said. He patted George on the back in greeting and hesitated before shaking my hand like I had just arrived to his business meeting. The awkward greeting dampened my mood, but Oliver looked much happier. His eyes had now completely shed the dead look they had carried for several weeks and he seemed ready to engage with the world again.

George looked from me to Oliver, a strange expression taking shape on his face.

"So far Puddlemere is down by 20." Oliver said. He pressed his ear once more to the wireless and smiled at me. I returned the smile and, when Oliver's gaze was turned forward again, glared at George. A fox-like grin was spreading on George's lips. This could not be good.

"Listening all alone, Oliver?" George asked, trying to appear nonchalant while making frequent eye contact with me.

Oliver glanced briefly at me before nodding without saying another word. He pressed his ear even closer to the wireless and made a show of concentrating on the words and fiddling with the dials.

George's eyes alighted on the shopping bag leaning up against Oliver's leg. "Quality Quidditch Supplies" was written across the top in scarlet letters and the logo had been bewitched to include two silhouettes on broomsticks tossing a quaffle back and forth.

"Christmas shopping for your mum?" George asked, nodding his head at the bag. "Everyone knows quidditch is the way to a woman's heart."

Oliver's hand shot out and pulled the bag in closer to his thigh to prevent George from peeking in through the top. "I don't see you've done any shopping for your mum." he said, his cheeks turning slightly pink.

"With a son like me, every day is a gift to a mum." George placed his hands behind his head, and reclined back into his chair.

Oliver laughed. I hadn't heard that sound for ages. It was a rich, honest laugh that came up straight from his belly.

"I wish my mum felt that way." Oliver said, "Then I wouldn't have to spend my bloody allowance on buying her quidditch scarves every year."

George and I looked at each other and bit back a chuckle. Both of us were imagining Oliver's mum wearing seven years of quidditch scarves around her neck at once full of polite reassurances that she loved them all.

* * *

The game did not end well for Puddlemere and we both pitched in to buy Oliver a consolation drink before we left. Fred and Angelina were nowhere to be found when we went downstairs to look for them, so George and I decided to head back to Hogwarts on our own.

Once outside, I growled in frustration. "One day without quidditch- just one! Is it too much to ask?" I asked. The higher pitch in my voice made me sound hysterical.

"Speaking of quidditch- I have noticed that you're really into it this year." George said with emphasis. What was he on about?

He draped a heavy arm over my shoulders and pulled me into his side. My heart started pumping with his closeness. He smelled faintly of pine trees- a clear fresh scent for someone I knew was befuddled in many rule-breaking enterprises. I wondered for a flash what it would be like to kiss George, but rejected the thought immediately. It would probably be like snogging a dry turnip.

"It smells like something died in your mouth." I said, looking him in the eye.

In response he moved his face in closer and asked, "So- you and Oliver then?" 


	9. Chapter 9

The horror! The horror! How could George know? The boy had the sense of flobberworm! My insides turned to liquid, then to ice. Maybe there was still a hope of recovering some of my dignity.

A few high-pitched laughs escaped my mouth. "Oliver? Him? No way."

The most gullible house elf in the world would not have believed that. I never was a smooth liar. At least I tried.

"Wow. You're even more into him than I thought. You know how obvious it all was back there, right?"

I buried my face in my gloves. "Do you think he knows? I feel like such an idiot. I..."

"I was talking about him." George said, cutting off my babbling.

Why had I never thought of asking George before? George was obviously a beautiful genius and not a flobberworm in any way whatsoever. My plan had been missing the male perspective.

"Him? As in- Oliver fancies me?"

George smirked.

"I could keep talking, but I think I should charge some galleons for this valuable information." he said.

I shook him by the shoulders. "Start singing, Weasley!"

George pulled me back into a walking side-hug. "He wouldn't stop looking at you, and I've never known Oliver to be that pushy about any of these quidditch listening sessions with me. And, that handshake? Clearly the move of a person worried too much about what would happen if he tried anything more. I'll bet that none of his mates showing up was not a coincidence." he said.

"You mean Oliver pulled off a lie? Have you ever seen Oliver try to lie?"

"He probably thought it was for a good cause." George shrugged. "They way you looked at each other. Honestly, I'm a little jealous." He rubbed the back of his neck with his glove and looked at me sideways. I could tell he was serious. What was that supposed to mean?

We walked in silence, our boots squeaking in the snow. The sharp outline of the castle bobbed ahead and I swallowed hard. It was the first time I had ever felt awkward around George since we met on the Hogwarts express in my first year. I didn't know what to say.

"I won't tell anyone." George said. The twinkle had returned to his eye. I smiled, relieved.

"How did you get so wise, George Weasley?" I asked. I looked up to see that George was gone.

A flying slushball made contact with my head. George stood a few feet away, a fresh ball all ready to go in his mitten and his usual grin in place. The moment of awkwardness melted away and I returned fire feeling like we were back in our old groove. The ball hit him square in his face and we both laughed.

* * *

George's words bounced around my head during the last week of school before the Christmas holidays. Now that the thought of Oliver fancying me had been planted, he seemed to pop up everywhere I went.

The first time it was in the charms corridor between classes. I knew for a fact that he had potions that hour and should not have been anywhere near the charms corridor.

"Bell!" he said. "I'm so glad I ran into you. What are your thoughts on what kind of broom Harry should get to replace his Nimbus?"

Another time it was in the library after dinner.

"Hey Bell! Have you read Ludo Bagman's biography yet? I was thinking about getting a copy for my brother for Christmas."

It happened, yet again, when I was taking a short stroll by the lake on our last afternoon at the castle.

"Oi! Bell!" I turned to see his burly figure running toward me. He was much more graceful on a broomstick.

I wondered what it could be this time. I had started to believe George's words, but now what? How could I help move us forward? What could I say? What else could we even talk about at this point? I tried to turn up the confidence, even as I started to feel the flutter in my chest.

I turned and walked back to meet him.

He didn't need to catch his breath. "I'm glad I ran into you."

'Ran into me?' There was that phrase again. Just a casual stroll by a freezing lake and calling out my name. That is just 'running into me?' My body perked up and I put on my most welcoming smile, shoving aside my disbelief to listen to what excuse he had cooked up this time.

"I really needed to know- Did you remember to put your practice uniforms in to get washed during the break?"

My smile drooped. "Of course Oliver. I did that a week ago." I continued walking forward along the lake. Oliver trotted to catch up.

"What a day today! These conditions are phenomenal. No wind and not a drop of humidity. I bet if we..."

This had to end. I cut in, changing the subject.

"What are you doing for Christmas, Oliver?" His mouth was still slightly open from talking, and his eyes widened in surprise.

"You want to know what I'm doing over the holidays?"

 _Anything but weather conditions,_ I thought. Out loud I said, "I've known you for so long, but I have no idea what you do in your free time."

Subject changed. I eyed him carefully to gauge his reaction.

"Free time?" His furrowed brow of confusion lasted only a moment before he dove right in. "Actually, I'm sure you'll like this. My mum used to be a medi-witch for quidditch teams, so we all grew up playing- my two brothers and I. Usually over break we work drills together in our yard just like we've done since we were kids. I'm the youngest and my two older brothers both play professionally now. They're both just on the reserves, but I think they'll make it out to the pitch in a year or two." He paused, scrutinizing my expression. "Maybe... maybe you could floo out to us and play, if you wanted? You don't really have to of course. I'm sure you've got your own plans with your family." He added this last part without taking a breath.

In a flash, everything about Oliver's life made sense. Maybe his mom did like all those quidditch scarves he got her for Christmas.

"That sounds fun." I said. I tried to ignore how dry my mouth had become.

Picking up the thread, Oliver asked, "Is anyone in your family interested in quidditch?"

"Not really. I have a younger brother and a younger sister that I wind up taking care of during the Christmas holidays. One of them will start at Hogwarts next year, but the other still has a few years and I think my parents are glad of any break they can get. They can be a real handful."

We walked in silence for a while, trying to catch a glimpse of the giant squid underneath the thin sheet of ice on the lake. Oliver's tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth and his eyes roved anywhere but on me.

"Tell me more about your mum." I said to draw him back in.

Oliver looked grateful for the conversation starter.

"She's tough as nails, but we had a fun childhood. My mom is convinced that you can learn everything about life by playing quidditch."

"Do you think that's true?"

"I used to." He looked into my eyes. "But, now I'm not so sure."

I waited for him to continue.

"It's my last year and there is so much pressure for me to go professional like my brothers. Getting the cup this year will really help prove to the world that I can do it and I feel like it's slipping away from me. It's hard when I get the feeling that the team doesn't care as much as I do. Well, except you, Katie."

My eyes shot up at the sound of his voice pronouncing my first name. He was staring at the icy ground. Feeling bolder, I said, "We all really care about the cup, but, life is bigger than quidditch."

"In my family, life is quidditch."

In a surge of compassion, I reached out and squeezed his gloved hand. He squeezed back. Oliver straightened his back and began projecting his usual enthusiasm, moving on from his moment of vulnerability with gusto.

"You really should come over during break, though. I think that my brother Quincy could give you a few pointers about chasing and my dad is a great cook."

We turned back toward the castle and Oliver recounted his brother's new technique while bouncing on his tiptoes. After hearing everything about his family, I understood that hearing these quidditch tips was the highest compliment I could receive.


	10. Christmas

**This is a short update, but I'm hoping my next chapter will make up for it. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

My eyes fluttered open. It was pitch black and snow was drifting down, insulating me from the world outside of my family home. The clock on my nightstand informed me that it was now Christmas morning. A glance into the frozen world outside made me nestle further into the radiant warmth of my covers.

Just as I felt my body melt back into the sheets, two sharp pecks sounded at my window.

I squeezed my eyes hoping I had dreamed it, but when I opened them again I could see the smear of a white owl hovering outside my window. With a sigh I sat up and slipped my feet into the fleece slippers waiting by my bedside to let the shivering creature in.

My eyes touched on the cards from Angelina and Alicia standing on my bedside table and I wondered if my Great Aunt Tilly had forgotten to send gifts until the last minute again. It happened almost every year and the gifts were always a thoughtless sweep to send off and fulfill whatever obligation she felt to our family. One year everyone got a different used doily and another involved a packet of quills in various states of repair.

The pecks came again with greater urgency as I laid my hand on the latch.

The owl looked relieved as it flew in through the window and dropped a letter with a small package on my bed. I brought my water glass over to where it perched on my dresser and left it to sort out its plumage and shake off the flakes that had accumulated while waiting at my window. I picked up the card first and saw that it was addressed to me in a stout hand with thick lines. Definitely not Aunt Tilly.

I slit open the top with curiosity and was surprised to find a picture of Oliver and I. The photo-Oliver waved with enthusiasm holding a broom, while the photo-me sent him bashful sidelong looks, also waving. There was writing on the back.

"Bell, I hope this finds you through the snow. Colin Creevy took this last year and I thought I'd share it to remind you that we will win the cup this year!"

I had the distinct feeling that there was something his pen had left out. Did this count as strictly quidditch-related? I closed my eyes and the scene from the Three Broomsticks replayed in my mind. Oliver had pulled the sack from Quality Quidditch Supplies closer to prevent George from peeking. My eyes landed on the package wondering what no-doubt-quidditch-related item lay inside.

It was wrapped with crisp folds in brown paper and red string. He probably paid someone from Quality Quidditch Supplies to do it, but the effect was inviting.

Allowing myself to feel at least a little delighted to have received this unexpected gift in the early hours in the privacy of my own room, I took my time in undressing the package and trying to imagine the look on Oliver's face when he had bought it. I wondered if the shop girl that gave him the flirty eyes helped him and casually asked about a girlfriend as he paid. What did he tell her? I grinned to myself.

Inside were two quidditch gloves stacked on top of one another. My name and position were stitched into the wrists in fine gold thread. I tried to quell my mind as to what it could possibly mean as my shaky hand reach for the small note at the bottom of the package.

No greeting. "I noticed yours were a little shabby at practice, so I got you these ones. Thanks for being a good friend to me. Happy Christmas, Oliver."

My heart started beating faster and I felt wide awake. I ran my thumb over the soft leather of the gloves. Oliver knew me better than I had thought. A practical object of beauty. How often had he looked at my hands to notice my gloves?

Underneath the gloves was a small packet with another note. "I told my mum to expect you on the 27th. She said to come at 7:30 sharp. Here is some floo powder in case you're out. Please say you'll come. Send a reply back with Gus if you can."

Another gift. So unexpected, I felt a swell of panic. I had not thought to get anything for him and I didn't want him to feel abandoned by me now. I was a "good friend," after all.

The owl was still in the room, so I had to think quick. On a whim, I snatched my Holyhead Harpies pin from where it was pinned to my lapel and scrawled a quick note.

"I'll change your mind yet. See you on the 27th." and attached them to the owl's obliging leg. My heart fluttered as I watched Gus fly out the window. What would he think of my gift? Would Oliver's family like me?

Smiling to myself I slid on the gloves and placed the photo of Oliver and I on my nightstand. The image of us standing side by side was the last memory before I fell back asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

At 7:28 a.m. on December 27th I stood in front of my fireplace gripping my broom. My heart was pounding. Oliver had written once more to confirm my visit and reiterate how important punctuality was. 7:30 a.m., he wrote. Sharp.

Got it, Oliver.

My parents wished me a groggy goodbye and I didn't even bother waking up my snoring younger siblings. I took a deep breath and tossed the floo powder into the crackling flames.

It felt obscene walking through someone else's fireplace when most of the world was still in bed. Nevertheless, there I was, striding out into Oliver Wood's living room broom in hand, ready for action.

Vibrant colored scarves bearing names of quidditch teams from all over the world snaked across the walls and assaulted my senses. Five mismatched chairs circled the fireplace and I almost tripped over them as I moved into the room to follow the smell of breakfast. A door to my left flew open. A woman stood there holding a coffee pot. Her hair was cropped short, her sharp chin jutted proudly and she fixed me with a familiar set of hawkish eyes. A bright red whistle hung around her neck, contrasting with the cream-colored ropes of her sweater underneath. She held the door open and motioned me through without a word. I nodded and smiled at the woman and walked in. Her mouth remained one taut line.

The three Wood boys were all seated at the table dressed in practice robes, broom in one hand and fork in the other. A man with a slight frame and wispy brown hair, who must have been Mr. Wood, was washing breakfast dishes with practiced flicks of his wand.

With the clatter of a fork and the thwack of his broom hitting the ground, Oliver stood up to set a plate of eggs and potatoes in front of me. All three boys were eating as if it were their last meal. No one even tried to talk over the scraping of the cutlery and the smacks of lips. Oliver nodded at the fork in front of me encouraging me to dig in. I scooped the food into my mouth with a wavering hand and managed two bites when a sharp whistle sliced through the air. In an instant, the three Wood boys were on their feet lining up at the door. I scrambled to fall in line, dropping my fork on my plate in the process.

So far no one had uttered a word to me. I felt jostled, harried, a piece of furniture to be shunted this way and that. While I didn't expect an enthusiastic greeting, at this point I would gladly give the rest of my uneaten breakfast to anyone who would say "good morning" and tell me what in the name of Merlin was happening.

Mrs. Wood marched to the front of the line and opened the door for the players. Outside, the boys all stood in a line with one leg slung over their brooms. Not sure of where to go, I took the place next to Oliver and slung my leg over my own broom ready for more instruction. He leaned in.

"We just do a couple of warm-ups and then play a pick-up game. Just follow my lead." His smile was warm and I could smell the hot cocoa on his breath. The Harpies pin I had given him shimmered on his lapel in the weak winter light and I managed a weak smile. There was no opportunity to out-quidditch anyone here and my knees were shaking from more than just the cold.

The whistle sounded again and we all took off. Shooting into the frigid air helped ease my nerves and allowed my focus to return. The feeling of my stomach dropping, the whooshing in my ears-they were familiar even if everything else was not.

I did several laps around the yard keeping up with their pace. My eyes kept drifting back to the brother that must have been the chaser Oliver had told me about, Quincy. The smoothness of his twists and turns on his broom exhibited his professional skill. When we transitioned into a passing practice, Quincy's eyes never telegraphed which direction he was going pass and his passes were always crisp, precise, and forceful. I could see that I could learn a lot from him.

In between my own fumbling passes, I observed the other brother, Sean. While Quincy and Oliver had the same stocky build, Sean took more after his father. His long limbs and light frame seemed best suited to the position of seeker. This was confirmed when I saw him practice darting up and down in a series of well-controlled accelerations and dives.

After three sharp bursts from the whistle, Quincy and Sean flew together toward one end of the makeshift pitch and Oliver motioned for me to come toward him.

"You'll be on my team," he said. This declaration sent puffs of steam into the air. I glanced over at the brothers, whose heads were close together surrounded by clouds of steam from their own conversation.

"They're talking tactics. We don't have much time, so we should do the same. Listen, Sean is best as a seeker, but this game will be quaffle and bludgers only. Mum acts as beater."

Sure enough, the woman sat squarely on her broom brandishing the beater's bat, red whistle clenched between her teeth. Although I felt terrified at the thought of arming this intense woman that I had not even spoken to, the practice would be more useful if conditions were closer to a real game.

"Sean is weak on the left side and can only pass the quaffle with his right. I think you could intercept. Quincy will be a greater challenge. Just try to follow his example and not look at me when you pass. I will try to pass under or above you to keep the quaffle moving in all different directions so we have a better chance at getting a shot in."

I nodded and was just about to ask again which was Sean's weak side when the whistle blared. We lined up to face each other and Mrs. Wood released the quaffle into the air.

Quincy's fingers were long and quick and he snatched the red ball from right under my nose before I could react. My Shooting Star was a recent model, but it was still no match for the professional-grade broom he was riding and I found myself struggling to keep up.

Oliver shot into position to guard the area between two trees designated as our goal. He bumped Quincy's shot away at the last moment with the tip of his broom down to where I was below. I caught it and held on tight.

I pressed myself against the broom to accelerate, Quincy rapidly gaining on me. I could see Oliver in my peripheral vision fall up and behind. I kept my eyes straight ahead and launched the quaffle in his approximate direction. Oliver and Sean grasped the quaffle at the same time, but Oliver ripped it from his brother's hands and zoomed ahead. I swung to Sean's left and Oliver feigned dropping the quaffle down, which drew Qunicy's attention and left the goal wide-open for Oliver to score.

This promising taste of victory early on turned out to be one out of only three goals we would score against his brothers. I felt sloppy in comparison to the two professionals and my stamina drained with every undodged bludger, intercepted pass and goal sailing in between Oliver's outstretched fingers.

After an hour and a half of play, I touched down sweaty and defeated.

One long whistle rang out. The Wood boys, all standing up stock straight one moment, relaxed their postures at the sound and began revisiting the game with good-natured shoves and pointers. Quincy pulled Sean into a headlock and Oliver rubbed his knuckles on his head, all three boys laughing and clapping one another on the back.

Mrs. Wood had disappeared. Without her strict direction, I no longer had any idea what was happening and I watched the boys wrestle with each other, hesitant to join in. Oliver started clashing beater bats with Quincy like they were swords and laughing. After Quincy snuck one around to poke him in the ribs, Oliver set down the bat and sidled over to me.

"If you play like that against Ravenclaw, I don't think we're going to have any problem," he said, bouncing on his tiptoes.

I stared, open-mouthed.

"What game were you playing in? We lost, Oliver. Pretty badly too, in case you didn't notice."

I wondered at his lack of worry. A Gryffindor quidditch practice with that many errors would never have ended with the beaming expression of pure joy he now wore on his face.

"We lost to Quincy and Sean. Two professional players who have been playing together since before they could even say the world 'broom' properly. Believe me, you held up well compared to some of our other guests." He put his hands on his hips and surveyed his two brothers who were now doing full-body recreations of some of the plays they had pulled off during the game.

I didn't know what to say. Now all smiles and jests, Quincy and Sean introduced themselves, shooting glances at Oliver the whole time and asking me which teams I supported. I wondered what Oliver had told them about me as I walked with them back to the house. Oliver drifted off to the left watching our interaction with close interest.

It was now only 9:30, but when we entered the house someone was cooking another full meal. Oliver's father was directing a spoon to stir large pot of some kind of stew while also cutting up thick slices of brown bread. "Good practice?" He asked without taking his eyes off of his work.

The broth smelled salty and rich and my mouth began to water. The hunger hit me as soon as I sat down. Oliver's father sent a basket full of sliced bread our way, and the boys were swatting each other's hands out of the way to reach one first. Oliver fought his way in to grab two and handed one to me with a grin.

I joined in with the talk, venturing to ask Quincy what he did to get the spin on his passes. He directed me in practicing the flick in my wrists and I finally found myself letting my guard down. As long as I could talk about quidditch I would fit right in.

"What is it about the Harpies?" Sean asked with his mouth full of buttered bread. "Even Oliver's gone over to their side." He flicked the pin on his lapel. Oliver was about to answer when Mrs. Wood entered the room wearing a set of clean clothes. The laughter stopped and all three boys became more interested in swirling the broth in their bowls than continuing their discussion. Even with the change of clothes, the red whistle dangled from her neck. The shift in atmosphere gave me a chill.

"Good show this morning, boys." Her voice was more of a bark, but it was not without affection. She helped herself to some bread and pecked her husband on the cheek. "You've been working on your pass work Oliver. It's much better. Sean- I've already told your coach that I'm coming to your next practice."  
Sean did not look up from his bowl. The game no longer felt like a wholesome competition between brothers and friends. It was a test of mettle, a benchmark to strive for but never reach, a never ending pursuit of impossible perfection. The pressure of their mother strangled all of the smiles out of what had been a light-hearted conversation about the same topic. Oliver's strict practices as coach now seemed gentle and reasonable in comparison.

Not wanting to watch Mrs. Wood dig into her sons, I excused myself to use the bathroom. Oliver's words by the lake floated into my mind: _"In my family, life is quidditch."_

I walked down the hall and waited a reasonable amount of time before making my way back. My hand was reaching for the knob when I stopped at the sound of my name.

"I thought Bell did pretty well." It was Sean's voice. "Especially considering that she's not a seventh year like Ollie."

"I still thought she would do better after all that I've heard about her this year." Mrs. Wood said, a rough edge to her voice. "Is she really your best chaser, Ollie?"

"Mum- you should see how much she's improved this year. She's got more heart than any of them." Oliver said.

I grinned into my shoulder, my hand hovering above the knob.

"Her broom work is decent, but I spotted at least a dozen areas you could help her clean up. It takes more than heart to win the cup."

"She asked me for pointers," Quincy's gentle voice chimed in. "She's coachable. She's got potential."

Mrs. Wood snorted. "Coachable? What have you been teaching that girl this year, Ollie? You've been distracted. She is your student, not your friend. You need to be tougher with your team if you want to win. No exceptions."

"It's more than just the game, mum. It's..." Oliver had begun. Quincy cut him off.

"Go easy on him, mum. He doesn't have to think about try-outs for another six months. He's still got time for a few wins at Hogwarts to show the recruiters."

There was a long pause. I held my breath.

"I don't like distractions." Mrs. Wood's voice said. The words curdled in her mouth and silence fell heavy on the room.

It felt like a hippogriff sat on my chest and I couldn't breath. Was that all I was? A distraction? An obstacle in the way of helping her beloved son achieve his dream?

All at once I felt dirty, like I had lied, tricked him into liking me by luring him in with quidditch. Did I really have Oliver's best interest at heart, or was this all just a selfish ruse to get what I wanted all along?

I didn't know what to think. My mind spun.

I needed oxygen. I needed food.

I needed a shower.

I pushed open the door. Four pairs of eyes flicked up at me and then back toward the food in front of them. I felt a flood of panic. Oliver's family would never accept me. I wasn't good enough for Mrs. Wood's son. I would never be good enough. I was a _distraction_.

Oliver had told me himself how badly he wanted to go pro. I couldn't take that away from him. I had to get out of there. Fast.

I cleared my throat, forcing their attention on me. My hands wrung together. "Thank you for the food Mr. Wood- er.. Mrs. Wood, but I have to go. I forgot I told my mum I'd look after my brother and sister this afternoon." I was breathing heavily, focusing on keeping the cadence of my words even and affixing a polite smile on my face.

I turned to Quincy and Sean. "Thanks for the tips. I'll have to work on those and come back for a rematch. Oliver is such a great coach. It's no wonder why after meeting his family." After two short laughs, I waved to them all, then pushed through the door with both hands.

My hand fumbled in my pocket for the pouch of floo powder I had taken with me. The fire had just flared up emerald green when Oliver came bursting into the room. He crossed over to me in two large strides.

"You're leaving so soon? I thought we'd have time to listen to the game later."

I turned to face him, fighting back the tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

"Yes. I'm afraid so. I could only come if I promised to fill in later to take care of the little ones." My voice came out surprisingly steady.

"You'll come again, though, I hope." He took another step toward me.

I shrugged. "I'll see you at Hogwarts." I said.

I shouted my address into the flames and caught one last glimpse of Oliver's confused face as I spun toward home feeling wretched. 


	12. Chapter 12

"Let me get this straight- you think you 'lured him against his will?'" Alicia asked. She placed an emphasis on each word as if she were dropping them one by one into my ear for my consideration.

She was leaning back into her velvet-clad seat on the Hogwarts Express, eyebrows raised in challenge. Despite the slight lean, her posture remained straight and dignified with her legs tucked at her side and her shoes on the floor. Angelina was sitting next to her browsing through a magazine and nodding along to the conversation. It was a relief to talk to them about the Mrs. Wood incident, even if they were both smirking in an annoying fashion.

Angelina was shaking her head. "I still can't imagine this Mrs. Wood woman. I can only picture Oliver with a wig. On a broom. Am I close?"

"Can we please focus here?" I asked with an edge to my voice.

Angelina looked at Alicia.

Alicia looked at me.

They both laughed.

I folded my arms and pulled my face into a frown. "I fail to get the joke."

"You, Katie Bell, lovelorn chaser of Gryffindor who has never had a boyfriend, 'lure' Oliver Wood, thick-headed man of the quaffle? No offense, but you couldn't lure a niffler with a shiny gold coin." Alicia said with a sassy bob of her head.

"Well, I'm not as expert as you, but..."

"I think what Alicia meant to say," Angelina cut in with a glare at Alicia, "was that this is hardly one-sided. Oliver Wood is not a man to fall for any 'luring' you might be able to pull off."

I ran my hands down my face and groaned.

"So. What do I do?" I asked.

Alicia rolled her eyes in impatience and made a rasping noise in the back of her throat.

"Just snog him already! Men like confident women, and you can quote me on that. You just have to march up to him, look him in the eye and snog him silly before he can do anything or say a single word about quidditch conditions. What else is really to be done at this point?" Her inflection rose as she threw up her hands in exasperation. "You need to move on with your life, Oliver needs a snog and the rest of us would like to talk about our own eventful Christmas holidays."

"Easy for you to say! You've never had a problem getting a date. It's like you've slipped half the boys in Hogwarts a love potion without even trying. It's hardly fair." I said.

"Don't spit at me because I'm better at 'luring' than you. I'm just offering my help! Help that you asked for, by the way." Alicia said, the tip of her nose growing pink with displeasure.

Angelina stepped in.

"She's right, Katie. Just do it already! Maybe we'll get a lighter practice schedule." Angelina's eyes sparkled at the thought.

Alicia then turned to Angelina with determination and steered the conversation in a different direction by asking what Fred had gotten her for Christmas. Angelina squared her shoulders to Alicia with a flutter of her eyelashes and launched into an explanation of Fred's gift of some kind of enchanted jewelry to an eagerly nodding Alicia.

Tuned out of the conversation and left to my own ruminations, my fingers ran over the surface of the quidditch gloves from inside my pocket and I contemplated the person who had given them to me. I could see his blue eyes alight with life, and I could smell his comforting musk of sweat and freshly cut grass. Holding onto his image, my body lit up in all of the places it had felt his concerned touch from my hip to the top of my shoulder.

They were right. Why don't we just snog each other and get it over with? We both wanted this.

..right?

An image of Mrs. Wood holding the beater's bat edged its way into my mind. A shudder ran up my spine as I watched the landscape outside whip by, onward to Hogwarts.

* * *

The morning of our last free day before the start of term, I went to breakfast with my mind dizzy. A new term meant a new class load, the end of quidditch, another round of essays and the mad dash to final exams.

It also meant that half my time was up for trying to get Oliver's attention. At the end of the year he would leave Hogwarts for long queues of mooning quidditch fans that would have his poster hanging on their wall and would ask him, eyelashes aflutter, if he could sign their scarves.

 _Just do it already!_ Angelina had said on the train.

All of the books about quidditch strategy that I had read so far touted the advantages of visualization. I imagined that an all-out snog offensive maneuver strategy should be no different. I just had to do it. Walk up to him and do it.

Sod Mrs. Wood.

If I had to be a distraction, I would be the best bloody distraction: the kind that liked quidditch.

Under the pretense of getting ahead in a few of my classes, I installed myself in the Gryffindor common room with a pile of books. Oliver was bound to pass by. What should I say? Will he ask about what happened when I left his family's home? Should I lie? Should I just sort of.. go for it?

I closed my eyes to picture my target with his typical oblivious grin in place. I imagined his lips parting like a quidditch hoop, abs clenched under his sweater, eyes falling shut. From here I would just have to lean in, rise up on my tip toes... My hands would... would... where would my hands go?

My eyes snapped open at the squeak of the portrait hole opening. It was Oliver. He was tugging at the ends of his sandy hair and styling it into a startled look fashionable only among obsessive quidditch captains.

As quickly as if Mrs. Wood had just blown her venomous red whistle, I jumped out of my seat to greet him, all determination and no finesse.

"Oliver, I know that you must think..." the words tumbled from my mouth in a rush, all of my mental preparation and confident strategizing thrown out the window upon seeing him in the flesh. Before I could even get my jumbled sentence out, Oliver stopped me with one solid word:

"FIREBOLT."

I blinked. Oliver's eyes were protruding a little. Was this... code?

Oliver pushed forward with his explanation, "Firebolt. Potter has a Firebolt and McGonagall said she has to... has to..." He swallowed hard as if whatever she had to do was simply too horrific to say out loud.

Oliver stuck his palms out in a gesture of reassurance that made it look like he was patting the heads of two invisible dogs. "Don't worry. I talked to her about it. He'll have it soon, she said. I'm sure there's nothing wrong with it."

I nodded, rearranging my expression into one of great concern as if it had been my sole desire since talking to him to know the fate of the Firebolt that I had never known existed. His eyes were looking past my face and roving around the common room.

"A Firebolt! We'll have it in time to beat Ravenclaw. No question. Don't even worry about it. It is all going to be perfectly okay. Just dandy. Tip top. Jolly good. Fine, fine, just bloody fine." he said as he wandered off in the direction of the dormitories still muttering to himself.

I let my expression drop as I watched his retreating back with frustration. I should have known better than to think it could have happened with the next match less than a week away. It was who Oliver Wood was- the man who he had been training his whole life to be, the idiot that I was possibly in love with and definitely going to snog.

How could my figure compete with the curves of the world's foremost professional broom? I wanted to stomp my foot on the floor, but I knew it was the news he needed to help push us to victory. If Harry really had access to a Firebolt, it would give us a sure advantage in the next match.

My heart beat faster.

If we won against Ravenclaw, we would secure our place in the quidditch final. Oliver would be overcome with joy. We would all be swept up in post-match euphoria, drugged with the fruits of our hard work and the swirl of hyped up confusion all around us. Anything could happen in such a moment. It would be so easy to yank Oliver Wood by the lapels of his match robes and pull him into the kiss of his life.

I hugged my books to my chest and smiled at the thought. A Firebolt, indeed.


	13. Chapter 13

The news came soon that the Firebolt was ours. Ravenclaw didn't stand a chance.

We felt invincible behind its perfect balance. We admired its untouched sheen reflecting the cold beauty of the winter sunlight. At our last practice before the match, we rubbed our gloved hands over our new good luck charm and reveled in our shared optimism. Even the sight of Madame Hooch reminding us about the dangers stalking our seeker from the outside didn't dampen our spirits.

Oliver's pep talk was delivered with square-shouldered confidence. Ravenclaw seeker, Cho Chang's, broom was no match for the Firebolt and, wherever the snitch was on the pitch, Harry could beat her to it in a flash.

In a state of awe, we watched Harry's flying skills match with the superiority of his new equipment. He scared several team members by rushing toward them with a burst of speed only to stop with perfect control just short of collision. We executed our plays with focus and precision, our excitement palpable with every pass.

At the end of practice, Oliver tried a few times to say something, opening his mouth and raising his hands. Instead, he dropped his arms at his sides, shrugged and beamed at us. Fred and George looked at each other with wide eyes and asked Oliver if he was feeling okay. George walked up to him and pressed the back of his hand to Oliver's forehead as if checking for fever. It was a testament to Oliver's mood that he laughed and clapped him on the back instead of snapping about not taking their work seriously.

His grin stayed fixed until he put on his stern coach face to tell us to turn in early. We all saluted in agreement and headed back to the castle feeling unstoppable.

* * *

I woke up the following morning feeling like I had swallowed a vat of Felix Felicis. Our win dangled and shined in front of me like fate.

The promise of victory seemed even closer when we walked out to the pitch at 10:45 to a clear day, no tempests in sight this time. None of my usual nerves plagued me as we all beelined to the changing rooms accompanied by the familiar clamber of hundreds of feet on wood to watch the match.

In the changing rooms, we all just looked around at each other, smiling. Oliver was bent over his broom, clipping here, polishing there. We all knew what was at stake if we lost the match, but it simply didn't seem possible. Oliver gave us a few reassuring words and patted everyone on the back as we left the rooms. I was the last out and his hand lingered, giving my shoulder a firm squeeze. I could feel my cheeks grow hot against the blast of cool morning air.

Oliver and Roger Davies shook hands and my stomach clenched waiting for the whistle. My heart beat fast against my ribs and my palms began to sweat.

We all kicked off, Harry transforming into a streaking comet of scarlet. My eyes fixed on the quaffle now cradled in the arms of one of the Ravenclaw chasers. Like Quincy had taught me, I watched his eyes telegraph the pass and was able to zoom ahead and snatch the quaffle from right under the nose of his teammate. I pushed forward, the comet Potter whizzing past in the opposite direction. I feinted left and the keeper fell for it, leaving the Ravenclaw goal hoops wide open.

The first points of the game went to me, the unstoppable Katie Bell. Three blurs sped by, whacking me on the back. There was no time to celebrate my goal as the quaffle was back in play almost immediately. I took a deep breath and refocused.

Just as Cho could be no match for Harry, we were outmaneuvering the Ravenclaw chasers by a wide margin. Our passes were faster, crisper and Oliver had already deflected three would-be goals. There was not much in the game of quidditch that got past his hawkish gaze.

Before we knew it, we were up 80 to 0.

Even though we were ahead, we could not let up if there was any chance whatsoever of Cho catching the snitch. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Harry accelerating this way and that, Chang always seeming to float just out of reach nearby. It was clear that she was tailing him, working to give the Ravenclaw chasers more of a chance to build a higher score before she dove for the snitch on her own terms.

The quaffle fell neatly into my outstretched arms from Angelina and I launched it toward Alicia only to have it intercepted by the same chaser I had stolen it from on the beginning of the game. The quaffle skimmed just beyond the reach of Oliver's outstretched fingers to mark Ravenclaw's first goal.

 _C'mon Harry. 80 to 10. Whenever you're ready, but now would be really great._

From above me, I could see Harry zipping forward, hand oustretched. My breath caught. Could it be?

Fearless, Cho Chang flew in front of Harry, who stopped just short of a full-on collision. I couldn't see any facial expressions, but I hoped that Harry was giving her an intimidating stink eye from all of us. I could see Oliver screaming something at Harry. In his moment of coaching, the quaffle sailed past his right ear for another Ravenclaw goal.

I wiped beads of sweat from my forehead and continued with the grind, working with Alicia and Angelina to perform play after play. I could hear the crowd's cheers rising. Lee Jordan's voice was raising in his commentary, but I couldn't stop to watch. Alicia had the quaffle and I was swooping above her for the hand-off when the whistle sounded.

I whipped around to see Harry's fist clutching a glint of gold. Excitement rose in my throat. Was that really it? Had it happened? Just like that? The other members of the Gryffindor team were rushing where Harry floated holding the snitch. I dropped the quaffle.

We won!

The inside of my head joined with the crowd in one long, enthusiastic cheer.

I zoomed toward Harry full-speed and joined the rest of the Gryffindor team for a mid-air group hug.

I screamed in Harry's ear and I gave him a big sloppy kiss on the cheek, Angelina and Alicia following suit. I was shaking and I squeezed my teammates tight around me feeling a warm ball of happiness radiate from my heart to the tips of my fingers.

* * *

Confusion reigned as we touched down. Gryffindors were surging down from the stands and I searched among the crowd for my fellow scarlet-robed teammates- namely one burly one that I fully planned on snogging.

I pushed through the crowd, breaking up at least three victory hugs in my pursuit. I looked around and took in everyone's ruddy, glowing faces. The cheers all came from deep in their guts. It was a happiness that penetrated and vibrated in my bones. I wanted to giggle like a maniac, but I settled for an incessant smile and jumping up and down with the fans that had pushed in next to me.

From my place in the back of the spontaneous parade of students, I watched Oliver lead the procession. He raised his broom to lead the cheer and everyone was crowding in to give him pats on the back. From where I stood, a group of 6th year girls were giggling and glancing at Oliver. A girl with long, wavy chestnut hair broke away from the group. Her friends chittered as they watched her jog up to him and tap him on the arm. Oliver leaned down to listen to what she was trying to tell him over the clamor, and she planted a kiss on his cheek. The kiss left a ring of scarlet lipstick, of which he seemed completely unaware. Marking her territory, no doubt.

The white hot bolt of jealousy that sliced through me in that moment quickly gave way to a surge of pride. Watching Oliver absorb all of the praise from everyone around him, I knew how hard he had worked. He deserved everything.

And so did I.

I had worked harder this season than any before and I couldn't have done it without the other two thirds of the chasing squad. Confusing emotions aside, I was determined to celebrate my own share in the win. Fred and George were nowhere to be seen, but Angelina and Alicia were marching arm in arm not far in front of me. I walked up to them and I hooked in. They both squealed and we all fell into sort of a messy jumping hug.

Angelina pulled me in with the crook of her arm. "Party in the common room! Fred and George said so." She had to yell to be heard. I nodded and added my "whoop!" to the cloud of noise.

An after party. Easy peasy. I just had to try and get him alone.


	14. Chapter 14

I followed the crowd of Gryffindors flooding into the common room. It was an instant party. Everyone was still cheering and hopping up and down. Scarlet and gold whirled in every corner as everyone waved and spun their scarves.

Fred and George appeared an hour into the celebration laden with sweets and butterbeer. Someone grabbed a wireless and switched it on. Angelina and I reached for each other and made up a dance that involved energetic jumping and hand waving with the occasional shouted "oh yeah!"

All around, Gryffindors were re-telling the parts of the match that they liked best. I felt a flutter hearing my own name mentioned a few times, but the words I heard the most were "Wood," "Potter," and "Firebolt."

Fred, George and Lee were all busy handing out the sweets and cracking jokes with the crowd. Harry was surrounded by his own knot of admirers and people who wanted to talk their way into "just holding" the Firebolt.

Oliver was, of course, inundated. The pretty girl with the long hair had stationed herself by his side. I tried not to look, but I couldn't help noticing how she kept touching his arm whenever she would throw her head back and laugh.

No matter. Nothing could throw me off my game at that moment.

"Anything off the trolley, dears?" Fred asked in an eerily spot-on impression of the train witch. There was more to choose from than I had counted on. Angelina looked at me and tossed a cauldron cake in my direction. She knew me well. I reached for a chocolate frog for her, but my hand bumped into Fred's on the same mission. I slapped it out of the way to toss the frog to Angelina. Impressed as I was with how much he paid attention, he wasn't going to beat me to knowing more about my best friend.

"I'm not ready to leave everything to you yet, Fred Weasley. As best friend, you need my approval to keep seeing Angelina."

Without a word he placed another cauldron cake in my hand.

"Okay, then. Permission granted." I grinned. Angelina leaned in and kissed Fred full on the mouth. We all "wooed" and many eyes turned in their direction. Instead of breaking off, Angelina leaned into it.

From across the room I chanced a glimpse at Oliver. He was also looking at Fred and Angelina, but his charming partner was touching his arm again trying to draw him back in toward her. Even with this new development, I knew I still had a chance. I just had to get him alone.

Angelina followed Fred to help hand out the rest of the, no doubt, pilfered sweets to the rest of the party-goers. I knew better than to probe the twins for their source. The less I knew, the less I could blab if Snape really did have that truth serum he always threatened us with. Alicia and I grinned at each other and performed an energetic can-can to the next song that came on.

* * *

Breathless from dancing with Alicia and giggled out from whispering commentary on one of the couches with George, my energy started to wane. Throughout it all I had kept Oliver in my peripheral vision. With constant vigilance I laid in wait for a moment he might be alone. Doesn't he never need to go to the bathroom? Thirsty for a few minutes out of the body heat and loud bursts of cheering, I headed toward the portrait hole.

It felt a wave of relief when the air from the whoosh of the portrait hole hit the sweat that had beaded on my forehead. I sucked in a deep breath and slid down the nearest wall. Once I was sitting on the floor, I pulled my knees into my chest and rested my head on them, savoring the silence.

Focused on the rise and fall of my chest, I could feel the muscles in my shoulders relax. There was only one way this day could get any better.

And there he was.

I had no idea the burly klutz could move so stealthily. I hadn't even heard the portrait hole open. Thank Merlin Sir Cadogan was off picking fights out of the portrait for now.

Oliver was standing in the middle of the corridor, his hand running over the back of his head and his eyes scanning the area.

"Looking for something?" I asked from my seat down below.

He jumped as his eyes darted down to find me. His face lit up with a grin that spread all of the way up to the creases framing his eyes.

"There you are."

Had he come out here looking for me?

He sidled over and slumped his weight right down next to me.

Right next to me.

His knees and thighs were pressed against mine and I could feel the heat travel like a fuse up my leg.

My breath caught at the unexpected contact, and it looked like his did too. He was staring, and all I did for a moment was stare back. His smile strained to keep on his face. I could feel his leg tense a fraction.

 _Now_ , a small voice in the back of my mind urged.

Instead, I cleared my throat and gathered my thoughts. "You were looking for me?" My voice came out much higher than usual.

He inhaled sharply, coming back into his own senses.

"I... I saw you leave and I wanted to make sure you were okay. And..." He pursed his lips together screwing up his courage to finish the sentence.

"And?" My voice was a squeak.

"And to say thank you."

His face was so close. I could see each eyelash fanning up and down, I could smell his breath laced with Honeydukes's finest chocolate.

"For what?"

"For believing I could do it."

He touched his shoulder to mine in a playful gesture.

I knew this was it. This was my moment. The quaffle had been intercepted and I just needed to shoot. SHOOT, KATIE BELL. THE GOAL IS WIDE OPEN.

Oliver's eyes were searching mine. He was probably trying to read my mind to find out if I was more than just a staring maniac. Alicia's words came back to me: _snog him silly before he can do anything or say a single word about quidditch conditions._

Pushing my hands into the ground, I moved my body up and caught his lips in mine. It made a fast, suctioned, "smooch" sound as he recoiled his head. We both looked at each other, stunned. His eyes searched me up and down and I stayed there, frozen.

Just as my mind began to reel from the idea that I had ruined our friendship forever, Oliver's hands shot up from below and grasped my waist, pulling me in.

His lips were warm and affectionate with an alluring hint of chocolate. They moved against mine with an even rhythm. I put my hands on his waist and I could feel his muscles firm beneath his thin sweater.

With my weight pitching forward leaning into the kiss, Oliver's back slid down the wall and our bodies hit the ground with a thud. I felt his wall of a chest heaving underneath my hands and my body stretched out, lined up next to his on the floor.

We broke apart for air, my breathing ragged. He reached his hand up to touch my face. He stroked his calloused thumb along the contours of my cheek smiling up at me. His own face was tinged pink from his nose to his ears and I could see that he was studying me with close interest.

I bit my bottom lip and looked away feeling shy under the intensity of his gaze. The hand on my cheek slid to the back of my head and he pulled me in again. Now that the seal had been broken, all I wanted was to feel as close as possible. I flipped my body on its side to press it in closer and he pulled me upward from the small of my back, our mouths still moving together.

I couldn't think, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't believe that this was real.

My mind couldn't grasp much in the heat, but I could say with certainty that this was much better than any fantasy of the scenario that I had played and replayed in my mind.

Much, much, much better.

My hand had just started to wander down the hills and valley's of Oliver's muscular arm, when his body tensed.

I broke the kiss to ask what in the name of Merlin was going on when he put a finger to my lips, his senses on high alert.

I heard it too. Footsteps. Muffled shuffles bounding off the wide, stone walls headed this way.

We scrambled to our feet. He grabbed my hand and yanked me back toward the portrait hole.

"Sir Cadogan." He hissed at the empty field in the frame with urgency.

A clatter of armor accompanied the knight's return. "I knew you'd come around to finally do that duel!" he said, brandishing his sword.

"No. I just want in."

Sir Cadogan frowned when Oliver said the password and we crossed the threshold back into the crowd.  
"That'll be McGonagall to break up the party." He said under his breath.

My lips were still puffy from the kissing ad my hands flew to my hair. I could feel a huge bump in the back where Oliver had pulled the hair up with the motion of his hand and I hastened to smooth it out.

I still felt out of breath, my insides a whirl of emotion- could everyone else tell what we had just been doing?

Alicia could. She caught my eye and winked, her eyes traveling down to our firmly grasped hands. She gave the slightest nod of approval before returning her attention to her dance partner.

A minute later, as Oliver had predicted, two angry coals for eyes smoldered beneath a tartan night cap and we scattered. Oliver gave my hand a squeeze before going our separate ways into our dormitories.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note:**

 **I know it's been a while since an update! The next few chapters are all written out, I just need some time to edit them before I put them all out. Thanks for your patience!**

* * *

A gentle hand shook me awake. Angelina's voice fell like an axe cutting me off from sleep.

"I heard someone scream from the boys' dormitory and I can hear people in the common room." The whites of her eyes stood out against the heavy darkness of the room. My breathing quickened as I pulled my sweater more tightly around my arms.

The common room was full of the susurrus or speculative whispers and the soft sigh of yawns. The only people who looked awake were Fred and George who thought this might be the second wind of the celebration party and were surveying the crowd with puffed out chests and mischievous grins.

Percy Weasley padded out into the middle of the confusion.

"Everyone back upstairs," he yelled with a flick of his hand, shooing us all back to bed.

Before any of us could make a move, however, the portrait hole squeaked and McGonagall appeared. She had her hands on her hips and the vivid shade of red on her cheeks matched the tartan she had wrapped around her shoulders. Her towering posture and flinty stare demanded an explanation.

"Sirius Black, in our dormitory! With a knife! Woke me up!" Ron Weasley piped out.

At the mention of the mass murderer's name, the common room went silent. All eyes swiveled toward McGonagall. The professor hesitated before walking out to interrogate our current portrait guardian, Sir Cadogan. The eager knight wasted no time in affirming that he had, indeed, let a man into the common room.

"He knew the password," he explained with a shrug.

My body went numb. We all stared, mouths agape, as Neville Longbottom admitted to writing down all the passwords in a list and then misplacing it. No one stepped up to his defense while McGonagall shrieked at him for his carelessness.

When the portrait hole shut behind McGonnagal's retreating form, a rumble of mumbles bubbled all around the group. High-pitched panicked voices mixed with nervous laughs and wild-fire speculations about where Black could be at that very moment.

In Ron's words, he had been woken by Sirius Black wielding a knife. His curtains were shredded. Our eyes all darted around the common room lingering on all the corners and in the dark spaces underneath the furniture. My own mind jumped to the games of hide and seek I played with my siblings and my eyes scanned the bottoms of two long drapes half dreading the sight of any feet that might be sticking out.

In my heart I knew that a man like Sirius Black, who had the wits to escape Azkaban, would hardly let himself get caught over such a mistake, but no one was thinking clearly.

The stack of good feelings I had built up throughout the day dissipated out through my open mouth.

Knowing that no sleep would come, I looked around for a group to join. The atmosphere in the common room had stiffened with suspicion. I saw Harry and Ron huddle together, deep in conversation. Though I had a feeling that they knew more than any of us, I sought the comfort of a trusted friend. I had always thought of Gryffindor Tower as one of the safest places in the world and the news that it had been so easily infiltrated by a dangerous man left me feeling confused and violated.

Cold fingers grasped my own. I knew without looking that it was Angelina. Her face looked pinched and drawn. I pulled her in for a hug, each of us clinging tightly as if we were balancing on a thin plank above a ravine. I squeezed my eyes shut and allowed myself to feel the fear constricting my chest. When I opened my eyes mid-hug, they locked with another pair from across the room. Oliver was talking with Lee Jordan in low tones, but he smiled when he saw me looking. Like eating chocolate after a run-in with a dementor, I could feel warmth reentering my bloodstream.

Angelina released her grip and we found a spot against a wall to slump. She pulled her wand from the inside of her long, flannel sleeve and I did the same.

"It's good to know who else will be prepared in a crisis." Angelina said. I smiled in appreciation.

"So, what do you reckon? Think they'll find him?" I asked.

She pursed her lips in thought, then shook her head. "How can they? If they don't know how he got in, how are they going to know how he planned to get out? Just think what could have happened to Fred's little brother!"

The Weasley twins here huddled in a corner now with Lee Jordan, looking uncharacteristically ashen in what looked like an intense conversation. I nodded in agreement with Angelina.

"Or to Harry," I added.

"Can you imagine how his parents must have felt? Knowing in their last moments that they were betrayed by their best friend?"

"I suppose we don't know what it's like to have a wand to our heads. But, if it helps, I would never betray you," I said.

Angelina grasped my hand again and flashed a weak smile. "I wouldn't betray you either."

Silence.

"Do... do you think you-know-who will ever come back?" Angelina whispered, every word saturated with uncertainty.

I shook my head and gave her my honest answer. "I don't know, but I bloody well hope not."

There was no use in sugar-coating anything on a night like this.

"It suddenly feels stupid how much I have been worried about this potions essay that is due on Monday," she said with a small laugh. I tipped a sympathetic smile.

I drifted in and out of sleep until McGonagall finally came back after the first fingers of light had started to stream through the windows. No sign of Black.

At this news, everyone started to trickle back to their beds. My mind was wrung out with the excitement of the day and I was no longer capable of a coherent thought. I squeezed Angelina's hand and we didn't let go, curling up next to each other like cats in her bed, hungry for every comfort.


End file.
